| Mr. Fixit |
| Eileen Mulligan eased her
battered car past her husband's beloved, partly restored 1972 Dodge
pickup and parked by the back door. She pulled two bags of
groceries out of the back seat, staggering under the weight, and glared
at the truck. "He loves that stupid thing more than he does me," she thought resentfully. She considered kicking it, but the way her day was going she figured she'd only break her toe. In the kitchen she dumped the groceries on the table. Tony wasn't on shift today and she could hear his voice coming from the living room. Tony kept his turn out coat and helmet on special hooks in the entryway, his boots set precisely below them. His neatly-pressed uniforms and polished work shoes were carefully stored in his locker at the fire station. His dirty socks lurked in colonies under the living room furniture. His jeans and tee shirts were strewn across the bedroom floor and his underwear got flung around the bathroom. If Eileen were very lucky it landed somewhere in the vicinity of the laundry hamper. If she were very unlucky it went out the window and snagged in the shrubbery. Eileen went in and flopped in an easy chair. Tony lay on his back on the sofa with the cat on his shoulder and the dog draped over his feet. A game show played on television and Tony was talking to the contestant. "It's Arkansas, you stupid putz! Arkansas!" "Georgia," the contestant said. "Ah, you blew it." "Georgia is correct," the host said. "Oh. Well . . . it coulda been Arkansas." "My car is broken," Eileen said. She knew she was whining, but she couldn't help herself. "Oh yeah? What's broken on it?" "Everything! The wheel on the car goes 'thump, thump, thump." "Thump! Thump! Thump!" Tony sang softly. "Thump! Thump! Thump!" Eileen looked at him and he stopped. "What else?" he asked. "The seat back flops over, the seat belt is jammed, the dome light doesn't work, the clock light doesn't work, the air conditioning quit working and the bright lights won't come on." "Hmm." He sat up and slid his sneakers on, reached under the couch and came up with a roll of duct tape. "I'll go have a look at it." "You can't fix everything with duct tape, Tony," she sighed. "I know that, but it's okay. I've also got bubble gum." He dropped his lower jaw to show her his wad of bubble gum. "And in an emergency I know where to get my hands on a roll of baling wire. I got you covered." Tony went outside and Eileen went back to the kitchen and put the groceries away. She heard him drive off as she was running dishwater. She was feeling melancholy today and thinking that maybe it wasn't a new car she needed so much as a new life. As she was finishing the dishes he returned and came in, beaming. "I fixed your car." "Fixed what?" "Everything. Come see." He still carried the duct tape. The roll was a lot smaller and Eileen followed him with considerable trepidation. The first thing she saw when she went out the door was the two big, square lanterns duct taped to the hood. "There's your high beams," Tony said. He led her around the car. "I put a cinder block to hold the seat up and made you a seat belt extension." He indicated a loop of duct tape fastened to the jammed seat belt. "You've got 360 air conditioning -- I rolled three windows down and as long as you go sixty you'll be fine. It would've been 460, but one of the back windows is stuck. I installed a new dome light." Eileen bent down with a sense of foreboding and sure enough there was a third flashlight duct taped to the headliner. "If you push up on the back the beam hits the clock, so that's fixed too." "What about the thumping sound?" "I turned the radio up really loud. You can't hear it anymore." Standing on the driveway, looking at her car, Eileen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Gee, thanks," she said. "My cup runneth under." Tony grinned, tossed her her key chain and went in the house. She turned to go after him and stopped to look at the key, because it felt wrong. The weight was off. In the kitchen she found her husband standing by the open refrigerator drinking orange juice out of the carton. "What's this?" He drained the juice and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "My truck key. I want you to trade vehicles with me for a couple of days until we find you something decent to drive." "Can we afford to buy a car?" she asked doubtfully. "Well, it won't be new," he said, his voice gentle with regret. "It probably won't even be nearly new. We'll find something, though. We have to. You can't keep driving that thing. It's a piece of crap!" He put the empty juice jug back into the refrigerator, kissed her on the cheek and squeezed past her into the living room. Eileen stood for a long minute looking down at the key in her hand, then very carefully tucked it into her purse. Going over to the living room doorway, she leaned against the doorjamb and studied her husband. He lay on his back on the sofa with the cat on his shoulder and the dog draped across his feet. The game show had given way to a soap opera and Tony was talking to the characters. "Dude! You gotta dump Monica! She's your sister. And she's cheating on you besides." Eileen smiled gently and shook her head. Maybe, she thought, maybe, just maybe, there wasn't anything too important that couldn't be fixed with duct tape after all. The End |
| Home |